Page 91 of Grave Misgivings
But that doesn’t mean I’m going to open myself up to her all the way.
I know the path to forgiveness starts here, but I’m not ready to bethatvulnerable. I haven’t even had any champagne.
“Whoever?” I ask.
She nods, a tear falling down her cheek. “Yeah, baby. Whoever.” She gives me a soft smile.
And as we watch the Arizona sunset from my whoever’s porch, her hand squeezing mine, I feel the warmth spreading over my skin, that bare spot no longer cold.
I can’t help but appreciate the sight, as Zeb’s rich voice carries in the air with Katy’s, singing about holding someone’s hand and never letting go.
When she gets up from the porch and heads into the house, I don’t move. Not until after my parents and my sister pile into their SUV, until the streetlights come on.
CHAPTER 22
Zeb
I runmy hands through my hair, relishing in the steam of the shower. I barely register the door opening, but I don’t think much of it. Having to share a bathroom sucks in general, but I’m sure there are plenty ofGravediggerfans who would pay good money to share a bathroom with the hottest man on the planet.
I note his silhouette in front of the sink, and I think he must be “putting his face on” as he calls it. I swear, he’s got more makeup and hair products than Katy and all her girlfriends combined.
I just toss some fucking gel in my hair and call it a day, but Geo’s gotserums.
Whatever the fuck that is.
I close my eyes, letting the water run over me, and then the shower curtain opens. His dark eyes implore me, and my gaze travels down his tattoo to realize... he’s completely naked.
And I finally see the end of his tattoo.
Just above his fucking dick.
My breath catches in my throat as he steps into the shower, his dark gaze confident as hell.
Anyone who says this man isn’t sexy has to be fucking blind.
“What are you doing?” I ask, a smile forming on my lips.
“I just figured we both need to shower, and this will save a lot of time.” He grins as I set my fingers on his hip.
“Show me yours,” he says seductively, reaching for my shampoo.
“Oh, is that what we’re doing?” I ask, running my hands through his hair, working up a lather. He lets me tilt his head back, and the sight of the water and soap running down his pale skin, down the line work of his cross tattoo, is a fucking sight.
“That is absolutely what we’re doing,” he confirms as he leans up and kisses me. “Please.”
This fucking man.
I shift in the small shower, turning around and showing him my ass. His fingers graze over the outline of the tail.
“Hellbound,” he says softly, his fingers hot against my flesh. They slide over my hip once more, and he pulls me back against him. His cock throbs against me, his hands sliding across my barely-there four pack, fingers splayed as the slip through my coarse hair.
“My favorite,” he breathes, his lips warm against my skin.
We kiss and touch until the shower runs cold.
Geo heads for his guestroom, towel around his waist, and I don’t hesitate to follow as we laugh, tease, and sing along to my blaring blue tooth speaker, like fucking teenagers.
And when we crash onto his bed, tangled limbs and cocks, and hungry lips, I think there’s nothing more perfect than this. Than feeling his heartbeat beneath my palm, his precum painting wet trails against my stomach. His fingers gripping my chest hair or grazing my thick facial hair while we kiss like they do in the movies.
